Harry Potter and the Power He Knows Not
by Cinderelynx
Summary: Harry Potter is destined to defeat Voldemort with "the power he knows not". In his fourth year at Hogwarts, he reaches the age of 14, a special number to his long-gone ancestors. Unbeknownst to him, he is the last druid, the race where magic originates, with their history erased by the Romans. Powerful!Harry, Harmony, mostly rewritten history of the magical world.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Welcome to the rewrite of a partially rewritten story! That's rewriteception of some sort. And that isn't a word. Aside from the ramblings of an unimportant zero prominence author like me, this author's note serves no purpose other than to inform you that I don't own these characters, yadda yadda yadda, and welcome to the story.**

 **Chapter One: Restless**

o0O0o

Harry had had a hell of a week. First, the Quidditch World Cup had devolved into madness, and then Ron had gotten his school books by Owl Order. The latter wouldn't normally have been a problem, far from it, really. No, the problem Harry was stressing over today was less on the problematic side and more on the unexpected side. Over the summer, Harry had forgotten to get his required source texts for the upcoming school year.

"Well, I'd rather deal with this than another World Cup."

Hence, Harry was in Diagon Alley alone for the first time ever, making his way to Gringotts. Molly, bless her heart, had given him some change to purchase his necessities, but Harry wouldn't have any of it. He knew he had money in his vault and he wouldn't take a penny from the family that had accepted him as their own. Arthur would have joined him was he off of work, but he wouldn't arrive home for another hour or two anyway; Harry had kindly declined Molly's offer to send someone with him, sure it would take less than half an hour.

Molly, being the mother hen he'd grown to love, wasn't satisfied with that. She'd made certain that he wasn't recognizable as the Boy-Who-Lived before he left. Harry had been more than astonished that she was able to tame his hair and cover his scar, but she chalked it up to simple experience - one simply can't raise six boys without learning a few tricks along the way.

"The trick isn't to make the hair lie flat, dear, it's a modified bubble head charm. The air itself keeps it down. And the scar! Oh, the scar is simple, just conjure a little piece of skin-tone paper and use a sticking charm to lie it down flat over the scar," she excused. Harry admired how simple she made it appear, though later he would try to imitate without any luck.

A thoroughly disguised boy made his way around the throngs of shoppers as he strolled casually to the bank. It was a good feeling, being unknown. The anonymity granted by a little change in hair and forehead kept a wide grin on his face the whole walk there. So scrupulously was he enjoyed his disguise that the path was all too short for his liking. A goblin teller sat across a marble counter.

"What need you, wizard?"

"Erm, Barhold, I'd like to access my vault."

"Yes, the My vault. We'll show you directly to the vault of the house My."

Confused, Harry looked back, brows furrowing. "What do you mean?" he questioned, before realizing he'd been had. "Oh, I'm Harry Potter. I need to see my trust vault."

Barhold the goblin teller glanced at his forehead and hair and saw only a scrawny, pale boy with no distinguishing markings save for those exquisitely green eyes. "Certainly, and I'm not Barhold - I'm the Director of Gringotts, don't you recognize me?" it chuckled with all the sarcasm of an unamused, overworked worker. "Identification please."

Harry groaned and realized that he would have to remove at least his scar covering. Glancing quickly from side to side, he saw that nobody was looking. The goblin rolled his eyes.

"Come on, boy, you're overdue for a meeting with your account manager anyway."

"You mean I don't have to get rid of my illusions?"

"No, we understand your need for privacy. The Downfall will more than remove any illusions you've got hiding on you," allowed the goblin as he led the boy further into the bank.

Momentarily relieved, Harry followed the goblin down a hall, towards the carts. Mildly squeamish though the ride was, he wasn't terribly bothered. He was a little bothered, however, when the Thief's Downfall washed away his magically straight hair and hidden scar, drenching him in the process. It dried faster than water normally would but, as brisk as it was, it wasn't pleasant.

As they sailed further into the cavern, Harry began to be concerned. He'd been to his vault many times before and he never recalled going this way. The fog he had often seen beneath the rails was now far above his head, and he could no longer hear the sound of dragons. No, now he more felt the dragons' anguish than heard it.

The cart turned sharply onto a rickety, disused rail shortly thereafter, nearly bucking him out, and rolled into a thin cave near the bottom of the cavern. Nervous, Harry looked at the rock rushing past. He was very deep underground and this was definitely not his trust vault.

"Your account managers are briefly ahead. Do withhold your shock, this will be your first time seeing them."

Any response Harry might have had was stolen from his tongue as the vault they were nearing came into view. Gargantuan steel doors barred entry, protected by a pair of equally impressive stone gryphons.

"Mr Potter," the goblin began, leading him from the cart with shaky legs from the ride, "Your true vault, and account managers."

Confusion plagued Harry like it was the Dark Ages again. Account managers? Stone gryphons? Being this deep in the cavern when he wanted to go to his trust vault? This didn't add up, and that added up to the conclusion that he had been misunderstood.

"Barhold, what am I doing here? This isn't my trust vault."

"Oh, your trust vault. Irrelevant. You're 14 now, correct? Turned 14 a few weeks back?"

"Yes?"

"Then you're of goblin age, and by the ancient, terribly feudal laws of Ancient Britannia, you're old enough to access this vault. Good thing you came alone, this is a ceremony best undertaken while solo."

"I don't understand, I'm here for money from my trust vault."

The goblin rolled his eyes. "Don't make me repeat myself, boy. You don't need your trust vault and you'd be much better off simply accepting this as your full vault."

"Alright, sir. If you say so. So, shall I just stroll right in?"

"First you've got to get things settled with your account managers. I'll assume nobody's ever explained anything about this to you, or I'd have to insult you. Listen carefully while I give the abridged version. Your parents are very dead and you are very alive. Any family you have living is not close enough to the ancient blood of Potter to take ownership of the vault. So, you're going to claim ownership of the vault by walking up to those gryphons, doesn't matter which, and they're going to take your blood. You will be judged and found worthy. Then, the vault is yours to do with as you pleased. Your mother certainly spent enough time here."

Head spinning, Harry had more questions than answers. "Take my blood? All of it? What if I'm found unworthy? My mum spent time here?"

"No, you daft boy, not all of it! Yes, your mother spent time here. She was working on some sort of project. And as to the question about being found unworthy, I've got a little tip," the goblin offered, annoyed.

"A tip?"

"Yes. A tip. Don't be found unworthy, it would be unpleasant to clean you off the walls."

Wide-eyed, Harry began his walk to the statues. With surprising fluidity for such massive stone structures, they lowered their paws from a rearing position to inspect him. It was eerie how silently they moved, true predators.

"I'm here to… Claim Ownership of the vault, I suppose."

One of the two extended a sharp talon, as large as he was, and razor sharp. It stopped about a meter away from him, frozen like a statue, with an expectant look on its chiselled face. Puzzled, Harry put a finger forward and decided the best way to get blood would probably be to prick his finger against the extremely sharp tip of the claw.

Painlessly, it separated his flesh and let a single drop of blood well to the surface. The monolithic beast's massive head came down, extending its tongue to wipe the blood from his hand. The feeling of the tongue was bizarre to Harry, it was polished and smooth to the point of feeling slimy, a feat for a stone creature.

The gryphons shared a stoney look, and the further one from Harry made a wide expression and began hacking and spitting like a cat. Concerned, Harry looked to the goblin, who rolled his eyes. Finally, a pillow shot from its mouth, hitting him right in the chest. It hit with surprising force, knocking him onto his bum. Somehow, a ring had remained on the pillow, which now sat before him. "Potter," he read, "Ingenii et Virtutis."

It bore an ornate crest of an exquisite gryphon coiled around a ruby. Sliding upon his finger, he felt a rush of magic, and a settling of some weight onto his form. An unoppressive feeling of responsibility emanated from the ring, subtly asking that he take what it offered and bring it to greatness. In his brief moment of focus on the ring, the gryphons had turned back to their pedestals, climbing atop and rearing back. They placed their talons on a pair of levers, pulling them down, before settling into their original poses.

Crispy, crackling noises sounded from the doors like a bowl of delicious cereal. Slowly, a mineral coating careened off of them as they opened for the first time in a decade or more.

"Good, I won't have to scrape you from the walls. Congratulations, Lord Potter."

Slightly overwhelmed, Harry didn't bother asking about the title. He staggered into the vault, which was taller than it had any right to be, and was rather astounded. Beyond the door was more gold than Harry had ever seen. The room it lay in was extremely orderly, heaps of galleons stacked in crates. A wall full of small, thin boxes sat to the left and a door lay across from him. The sheer size and density of the room shocked him, he'd never seen anything like it. A glimpse of the telly in the Dursley's household floated to the forefront of his mind, a gargantuan warehouse for a supermarket.

"What is all of this?" the overwhelmed boy whispered to nobody in particular. Repeating himself loud enough for the goblin to hear, he was told that this was everything the Potters had in storage. "How much gold do I have? What are all of those boxes on the wall? Do I have any ancient artefacts? What's beyond those doors?"

"The Potters are a wealthy family, sir. Tens of millions of galleons in cash alone. The exact amount could be brought to you at your request, but I'm doubtful that you would need it. Those thin boxes should be wands left by your ancestors, and there are three artefacts here, though I know no specifics. I'm not privy to that information. Beyond those doors at the far side of the room would be an office requested by your mother, and the doors to the right are supposedly where she kept her project. If I may, I would suggest you prepare yourself for even more than you find in this vault. This vault has been closed since your parents were murdered, and there will be an influx of goods from those who left their belongings to whoever would defeat Voldemort."

Harry felt a slowly growing headache. This was no scar-induced headache, he was just purely overwhelmed. He'd heard Hermione talk about how a wand was roughly £150 in muggle money once, which meant that a single galleon would be worth around £21. That put his muggle wealth, in just cash and no assets, in a multiple of £21 pounds. From the way the goblin spoke, he was sure he could never spend this much money.

His legs almost failed him as he walked to the boxes near the far shelf. Opening the first case he saw a beautiful red wand. A note on the inside of the box declared it to be a redwood wand with a dragon heartstring, twelve inches long and quite sturdy. Second, he unlatched the red case, a thin wand of acacia and augury feather, and finally, he opened the bone case. A crude creation of dragon bone and elder. According to a note from its creator, a Hadrian Fenwick Potter, it was an odd creation, one that survived no matter how much magic he could force into it.

The impressive collection was too much for him, and he turned away. A knob in the wall caught his eye, and he turned it to find a room of small boxes. Whatever it was, he was too full of information to deal with it today. This could wait.

Reminding himself that he was only supposed to be getting books, he walked to the study at the end of the room. A neat, orderly library greeted him instead, full of outdated books and letters from his ancestors, all sorted alphabetically. Somewhere, he was aware of his heartbeat slowing, and a feeling like electricity charged him. His ancestors were here. They'd all left letters to him, to everyone before him. Had his parents…?

His parents had left a letter, one specifically dedicated to him. Slowly, his lightning bolt feelings coalesced into an odd emotion. All his life he'd been told he was worthless by his relatives. It broke him to read the confessions of a couple of barely twenty-year-olds. They were barely old enough to have kids, and far too young to die, but they loved him with all their hearts, so much that they gave their lives for him. Righteous vigour filled him, he had been wanted, he wept in lament.

Making his way from the study, letters in hand, he grabbed as many galleons in the shrinking money pouch as he could carry. He would be back at some point to explore the other features of the vault for sure. In the meantime, he would be getting back to the surface for his school books. Molly would be getting worried. Somewhere far away, Lily was sure to approve of Mrs Weasley, and Harry didn't want to let either of them down. He didn't want to let anyone down.

o0O0o

Three days later, Harry found himself at King's Cross once more. His friends were as excited as he was, though exhausted - Hermione hadn't slept a lick the night before, nor had Harry, and solely Ron had managed to get any sleep. The gloomy downpour dampened only their clothes, and Ron's attitude.

"Bloody crowds," Ron muttered under his breath. "Too loud." Ron glared at Pigwidgeon, though the unflappably enthusiastic owl continued flapping and screeching.

Molly gave him a sharp look which he felt more than saw. Perhaps it would have been better to stay awake the whole night when Ron woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they all suffered.

Charlie attempted to liven up the drowsy trio a little. "I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," he announced, putting his arm around his chilly baby sister.

"Why?" questioned Fred keenly.

"Oh, you'll see," said Charlie, "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it… It's supposedly 'classified' information until the Ministry sees fit to release it. He'd give me an earful, that one."

"Yeah, I sort of wish I was back at Hogwarts this year too," said Bill, eyes twinkling as he looked almost wistfully at the train.

"Why?" asked George impatiently.

"I might even ask for time off to come and watch a bit of it… Oh, I might as well just say you'll have an interesting year."

"What do you think, Harry? What'll it be this year?"

"Maybe they've invited the Chudley Cannons to compete against Hogwarts! It would be nice of Dumbledore to let Slytherin win a match for once," Harry chuckled.

"Oi! Are you saying that Malfoy is better than my Cannons?" sniped Ron.

"No, Ron, he's just implying it," a redheaded twin delivered.

"Honestly, Harry, I'm almost hoping you're right. We deal with enough at this school already. Trolls, dark lords, snakes," Hermione stopped at Ginny's cringing expression. "My bad, Ginny. I shouldn't have mentioned the snake. It probably isn't anything Quidditch related, otherwise, it wouldn't be Charlie mentioning it. I suspect dragons are involved."

Harry agreed with Hermione. "Is a normal year to much to ask for?"

"Normal?" Fred said.

"Your normal, Harry, is not a thing to wish for," George added.

"At least you make things interesting!" Forge and Gred finished as they clambered aboard the scarlet express.

The group chuckled, save for Ron (who had a growing headache). They made their way onto the train and found their regular compartment, setting their things around. Hermione leant out of the window to say her goodbyes to the Weasley matriarch. "Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs Weasley!"

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs Weasley," added Harry.

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine, dears," said Mrs Weasley. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but - oh, you'll all want to stay at Hogwarts for some reason or another," she said with a knowing look.

"Mum!" groaned Ron irritably, "What d'you all know that we don't?"

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," said Mrs Weasley. "It's going to be very exciting! Mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules-"

"What rules?" begged the four boys.

"Oh, now that would be telling. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you later. You won't have to worry about them so long as you behave. Right, George? And you as well, Fred! I expect the best behaviour from my little men."

The pistons hissed angrily and the train creaked to a roll.

"What's happening at Hogwarts, mum? Tell us!" Fred bellowed from the window as the train gained speed. "What rules are they changing?"

But Mrs Weasley only grinned cheekily and waved. Before the train had rounded the corner, she, Bill, and Charlie had disapparated.

The rain streaking against the now-shut window beat a steady rhythm alongside the train's engine, with the added effect of blurring the outside world. Ron undid his trunk, pulled out his hideous joke of dress robes, and flung them unceremoniously over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle the bird's incessant screeching.

"I'll be taking a nap, you two," Ron grumbled. "Try to keep it down."

Hermione cast a silencing charm on the owl and the door, and a weak one on the window - she quite enjoyed the sound of rain on windows. It was a calming sound, and the feebleness of the spell let it just about drown out the whispers of sound she heard from the hall.

She opened her copy of Hogwarts: A History, the most recent edition, and began to read, despite her closing eyes. She slowly began nodding off, as did Harry, and before they knew it the lullaby of rain and whispers pulled them into a dreamless sleep.

o0O0o

By some miracle, they managed to get a good few hours of sleep before the lunch trolley rolled by. Ron's nose alerted him to the possibility of food, and his clumsiness roused the other two from their sleep. Hermione's head resting on Harry's shoulder gave Ron pause for a moment, but he was too groggy and hungry to think properly about it.

Hermione jerked away from Harry suddenly, eyes wide and face red. Harry gave another half snore before awakening fully, oblivious.

"About time for lunch, lads?" said the kindly lady running the cart.

"Yes, thank you," said Harry as he purchased several pasties and cakes to share amongst them.

Famished, they tucked in. Hermione noted that the rain was steadily getting heavier as they continued north, adjusted her spell accordingly, and resumed reading her book. Still tired, their conversation was stifled. Just as Ron was nodding off again, they heard a voice outside.

"... Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang, rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore - the man's such a Mudblood-lover - and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defence rubbish we do..."

Hermione silently walked to the door and slid it shut, blocking Malfoy's voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily, "I wish he had gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" said Harry.

"Yes," said Hermione sniffily, "one with a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," said Ron groggily, "Where's it? What country?"

"Well, nobody knows. Most theories say it's in Bulgaria, but some point it as far north as Poland."

"So its location is a secret?" asked Harry.

"Yes, a very closely guarded one at that. It's probably due to the rivalry between the biggest magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal whatever secrets they have," said Hermione matter-of-factly.

Ron's brow furrowed in confusion. "Durmstrang got to be at least the size of Hogwarts, right? How would they hide a ruddy great castle?"

"Well, you'd know if you bothered to read Hogwarts: A History or even if you had taken a useful class like Runes," said Hermione impatiently.

"Oh, don't you start…" Ron began, but Harry tuned out their bickering. Hermione's comments did get Harry thinking, though, about maybe switching classes to join Runes. Divination was a terrible bore anyway.

As the train bore northwards, several of their friends popped in to say hi, crowding the cabin. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom (a round-faced, terribly forgetful boy who had been brought up by the formidable Augusta Longbottom) began to chat with the boys about Quidditch, with Seamus' rosette still exhaustedly piping phrases from the World Cup. After about a half an hour or so, Hermione grew tired of the endless Quidditch talk, and buried herself into her Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4 as she attempted to learn a Summoning Charm.

Neville listened jealously to the others' conversation as they relived the cup match.

"Gran didn't want to go," he groused miserably. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"Oh, it was," said Ron, dreamy as he recalled the match. "Take a look at this."

He rummaged through his trunk for a moment, before pulling out a miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Careful, Ron, you might get Krums everywhere," Harry laughed.

Ron chuckled alongside his friends and turned back to Neville. "We saw him right up close, as well," said Ron. "We were in the Top Box-"

"For the first and last time in your life, Weasley."

Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway, flanked by his personal ogres, Crabbe and Goyle. The two looked to have grown a foot over the summer, and - if possible - even stupider than last they'd been seen. Clearly, they'd decided now was the time to make their yearly visit to the Potter crew.

"I don't remember calling for a brat, but it seems you've shown up anyway," snarked Harry, cool as ice. He hadn't, and wouldn't, forgive Malfoy for his father's misdeeds and his own personal pettiness.

Draco ignored him, instead choosing to go for easier prey. "Weasley… What is that?" said Malfoy incredulously as he pointed towards the hideous dress robes over Pigwidgeon's cage. A sleeve of the dress robes dangled downwards, swaying with the motion of the train, mouldy lace cuffs visible.

Ron made to stuff the cuffs out of sight but it was too late, the damage had been done. Malfoy's years as a seeker had made his reflexes faster than the stockier male, snatching the sleeve and pulling.

"Look at this!" said Malfoy, ecstatic. "Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean, they were fashionable in the eighties…"

"The eighteen eighties!" laughed his cronies.

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" yelled Ron, the same putrid purple as the robes, yanking them out of Malfoy's hands. Malfoy cried with derisive, false laughter alongside his bodyguards.

"So… You plan on entering, do you? Going to try and bring some glory to the family name? There's money involved too, you know…"

"What are you on about?" Ron snapped.

"Are you going to enter, you dunce?" repeated Malfoy aggressively, "I suppose you'll be entering, won't you, Potter? Never pass up a chance to show off and get yourself hurt?"

"Either explain what you're on about or get out, Malfoy," said Hermione testily, begging for an excuse to punch the ponce. "I don't want to dirty this book by hitting you with it."

A gleeful smile rolled across the boy's face as he ignored the girl. "Don't tell me you don't know?" he said with delight. "You've got both a father and a brother who work for the Ministry and you don't even know? By Merlin, my father told me about it ages ago… heard it from the Minister himself. But then, Father's always been associated with the top people at the Ministry… Maybe your father's just too junior to hear about it… yes… they probably don't talk about important things in front of him."

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the trio of twats disappeared down the corridor to terrorize some other group.

Ron was grumpy for the rest of the trip after that, cursing Malfoy the whole way to the castle as he stuffed his dress robes into his trunk. Hermione, try as she might to lighten everyone's spirits a little, was simply too tired to do much other than doze lightly until the train neared Hogsmeade Station and they had to switch into their school robes.

The downpour was heavier still than when they left. It reminded Hermione of pictures she'd seen of a typhoon shortly after she was born. She was always curious to see the things that had happened in her life before she could even remember. As the train doors opened, a crack of lightning roared overhead, and she bundled Crookshanks up as best she could.

"Harry, let me see your glasses for a second," said Hermione, remembering a spell from her book. Harry knew better than to question her, so he handed them over without question.

"Impervius," she spoke, charming the glass to ward away water.

"What's that do?" Harry asked, intrigued.

"It'll keep your glasses dry, so you can see." she recited. "Now, let's go."

Pigwidgeon was left soaked as they trudged through the darkness to the carriages, eyes narrowed and heads bent against the beating rain. Ron, still glowering, hadn't bothered to cover the poor bird.

"Hi, Hagrid!" Harry shouted, noticing an enormous silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', Harry?" Hagrid bellowed back, waving. "See yeh at the feast! If we don' drown, that is!"

"Oooh, I wouldn't fancy crossing the lake in this kind of weather," said Hermione, shivering as they inched slowly along the dark platform with the rest of the drenched crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them at the end of the platform. Harry and Hermione climbed into the nearest one they could get to, followed closely by Neville and Ron. Slightly cramped though they were, the friends were grateful for the drying and warming charms in the seats. The thought of having to climb out into the rain again made them shiver.

Harry certainly didn't mind how cramped it was, Hermione was warm.

o0O0o

 **A/N: And here it is! The first chapter of the better story! I'd love if you've got any criticism for me, I'm grateful for anything I can get. I'd also like to note that ffnet's editing feature shows that this chapter is 4,870 words long, and when copied into a google document, it claims to be 4,706 words long. If anyone sees where that's from, I'd love to know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Looking for a Brit-picker. I try my best to stay within the bounds of British English, but it's currently a hybrid of British and American English. I'd greatly appreciate any help I can get.**

 **Chapter Two: Hogwarts**

o0O0o

Winged boars stood at the gates of Hogwarts, welcoming the students to a lengthy drive on the grounds of the magnificent castle. The carriages trundled along, grating the ears of students with the sound of torrential rains on the roof. Harry leaned against the window to look up at Hogwarts, blurred against the thick curtain of rain. Lightning struck against the sky, briefly illuminating the roiling, angry clouds over the castle. For all the ominous nature of the storm, Harry was happy to be back at Hogwarts.

Students in the carriages nearest to the front were already hurrying up the stone steps to the great oaken doors and into the castle. Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Ron braced themselves as they grew closer to the doors, preparing to leap out.

Harry had a realization the second the other two boys jumped out of the carriage. "Hermione, what was that spell again? Couldn't we use it on our clothes?"

" _Impervius,_ Harry. Good thinking!" she enthused, glad to see her friend's critical thinking skills were not rotting as they normally did during the school year.

Charmed and ready, the two walked at a brisk pace to the doors. A tiny stream of ice cold water ran its way down Harry's back, but he didn't mind; a little rope of water was far better than the soaking he'd received earlier.

When they reached the castle, Ron and Neville were waiting for them. The two boys looked Harry and Hermione up, then down, then up again.

"You're still dry?" Ron asked, dumbfounded. "Blimey, Harry, how'd you do that? Why didn't you do it to us too?"

"Sorry, mate, I didn't think of it until right after you'd jumped out of the carriage," Harry assured. "Really, it was Hermione, she did the spell on my glasses back when we got off the train, and she was the one cast — AARGH!"

Harry was cut off by Peeves lobbing a water balloon at him. The spell kept him mostly dry, but it was a shock to get a face full of freezing water. A second one hit Ron straight on the head, drenching him further.

"Peeves, you little —" Ron yelled, full of murderous intent (how he planned to murder a spirit was unknown.)

McGonagall walked in on chaos in the entrance hall. People were shrieking and pushing in their efforts to get out of the line of fire, or water.

"PEEVES!" she yelled, irate. "Peeves, come down here at ONCE!"

Harry rolled his eyes at the poltergeist's antics. Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Gryffindor, and Dignified Scot, came dashing out of the Great Hall. She skidded on the wet floor and nearly slid into Hermione, accidentally grabbing her throat to stop herself from falling.

"Ouch — oh, I'm terribly sorry, Miss Granger —"

"It's quite alright, Professor!" Hermione gasped, surprised and massaging her throat. The ageing transfiguration professor had quite the grasp…

"Peeves, get down here NOW!" barked the woman, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.

"Not doing nothing!" cackled the mischievous spirit as he lobbed a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dove into the Great Hall. "Already wet, aren't they? Little squirts! Wheeeeee!" He aimed another bomb at a group of second years who had just arrived.

"I shall—" shouted Professor McGonagall before a bomb hit her in the face. "So help me Merlin, you're getting exorcised! OUT!"

Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase. Professor McGonagall took a moment to compose herself, taking a deep breath. "Well, move along, then! Into the Great Hall, come on!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione unsteadily made their way across the entrance hall and through the double doors on the right. Ron muttered furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.

The Great Hall was splendid as always, decor set out for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets glistened by the light of a thousand candles floating midair. Four long House tables were packed with chattering students. At the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, looking out over the student body. It was much warmer in the castle than outside, something the students were very grateful for — though whether that was due to the candles or some sort of charms was yet to be determined. The trio walked to the far end of the hall, where the rest of the Gryffindors had gathered next to Nearly Headless Nick. The Gryffindor ghost was dressed in his usual doublet, with a rather large ruff, possibly to appear festive or perhaps to prevent his head from wobbling too much on his thin remnant of a neck.

"Good evening," said the ghost.

"I hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I'm starving," responded Harry.

The first order of business at Hogwarts, as always, was the Sorting of new students. By an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn't been present at one since his own, and he was looking forward to seeing it from the perspective of a returning student. A voice like an excited dog called down from the table.

"Hiya, Harry!"

It was Colin Creevey, a third year to whom Harry was somewhat of a hero. The small boy's ardour would have been endearing, but after two years of the boy's hero worship, it was beginning to grate on his nerves.

"Hi, Colin," responded Harry, flatly.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting! Dennis!"

"Er — good?" said Harry.

"He's really excited, like I was!" continued Colin, bouncing up and down in a manner, not unlike a small dog. The boy had boundless energy. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er, yeah, of course," he promised. He turned back to Hermione, Ron, and Nick. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of which had been in Gryffindor.

"Not necessarily," started Hermione. "Parvati's twin is a Ravenclaw, and they're identical."

Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be more absent seats than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still ferrying the first years across the lake; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the entrance hall floor. That left one more empty seat, and Harry realized who was missing a split second after Hermione voiced her thoughts.

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"

They had never had a DADA teacher who lasted more than three terms. Harry's personal favourite had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned at the end of the year. He looked up and down the staff table, and again, saw no new faces to hint at who would be their new professor.

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" said Hermione, looking anxious. Harry was certain that even if they couldn't get a defence teacher, someone would step in as an interim professor. Even Hermione would probably be able to teach defence if she really tried, to him and Ron at the very least.

Harry scanned the table a third time, this time more carefully. The tiny Professor Flitwick was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher. Professor Sprout sat next to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department, and next to her, the most disliked teacher at the school — the greasy Professor Snape. If possible, Harry hated the man even more than he had the previous year, owing in no small part to the man's attitude towards Harry's godfather. Harry had helped Sirius Black escape right under Snape's overly large nose, which didn't increase his already awful standing with Snape.

On Snape's other side was an empty seat, which Harry guessed belonged to Professor McGonagall. Next to it, at the very centre of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, with his silvering hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons; he was the perfect image of what muggles imagined a wizard ought to look like. Dumbledore was clearly lost in thought as he stared upwards. Harry glanced towards the ceiling as well, which was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and he had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds swirled around it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

"Oh, hurry up," Ron moaned. "I could eat a hippogriff."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the doors of the Great Hall opened and the students went quiet. Professor McGonagall was leading a line of first years up to the top of the hall. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione thought their short walk was bad, it was nothing to how the first years must have felt. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with either cold or nerves, or both. They quickly made their way along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school — all of them except the smallest of the lot, a boy with mousy hair who bore a striking resemblance to Colin Creevey, who was wrapped in Hagrid's massive moleskin overcoat. The coat was bigger than the boy who wore it, only his face protruded from over the collar, looking as painfully excited as his older brother. When he had lined up with his terrified peers, he caught his sibling's eye, gave a double thumbs up (which was barely visible through his huge sleeves) and mouthed, _I fell in the lake!_ He looked positively delighted about it.

Professor McGonagall brought out the Sorting Hat and its ancient stool. Chilly and exhausted, few students watched the Sorting. As the students were sorted into their respective houses, a half-hearted clap went up.

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Harry became significantly less interested after the younger Creevey had been sorted. It seemed he was a smaller copy of Colin, and that was all the _Creevey_ Harry could handle in his life.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and glasses? See him? _Guess who he is, Dennis!_ " the elder sibling called.

Embarrassed, Harry turned away. " _Oh boy,"_ thought Harry. " _It looks like I'll have another one following me around. I'll have to have words with Colin about that."_

"Oh, hurry up with this," groaned Ron, patting his belly. "I'm starving!"

"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," admonished Nearly Headless Nick as Hufflepuff gained a new student.

"'Course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron.

"Don't be rude, Ronald, you can survive another five minutes," Hermione chided.

Ron rolled his eyes and pointed to his stomach, which growled almost on command. Finally, as the Sorting came to a close, Dumbledore stood as though to give a speech. Ron looked close to tears at the thought of having to wait any longer for dinner.

"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, eyes twinkling with a knowing look in Ron's direction, " _Tuck in."_

"Hear, hear!" laughed Harry and Ron as their plates filled.

Dinner was gone all too soon and Ron was much happier for it. A good night's rest from now and he'd be golden. He was thankful that Dumbledore had left the speech for after they had eaten, a speech he was now fully invested in.

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.

" _What!?"_ said the school's quidditch-faring population in tandem. For once, the Weasley twins were speechless, too appalled to speak. Dumbledore continued.

"This is due to an event that will be starting in October, continuing throughout the school year, and taking up much of the teachers' time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —"

The headmaster was cut off by a roar of thunder as the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, his features hidden by a black travelling cloak. He dropped his soaked hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark hair, and began to walk up toward the teachers' table. With every other step, a dull _thunk_ echoed through the Hall. He reached the end of the table, turned right, and limped heavily on his right leg, as though his left was injured.

A bolt of lightning brought the man's face into sharp relief against the relatively dark stones of the castle, and it was not a pretty sight — every inch of his face was scarred and trenched. A chunk was missing from his nose, his mouth was tilted at an extreme angle, as though it had been partially melted. However, his eyes were what truly frightened Harry.

One of them was dark and beady, fixed on Dumbledore. The other was large, round as a coin, and a glowing, electric blue colour. It moved ceaselessly without blinking, rolling quite independently of the other, before rolling right over to point into the man's skull. Its unnaturalness made them all queasy, with Ron turning a particularly impressive shade of green.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was just as badly scarred as the rest of him and seemed to make an inquiry. Dumbledore shook the outstretched hand, muttering words Harry couldn't hear, then gestured to an empty seat next to himself. Satisfied, the stranger sat down and shook his hair out of his face. He took a small knife from his pocket, speared a sausage, and began to eat.

"My apologies for the interruption. May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" said Dumbledore into the silence. "Professor Moody."

In most cases, a new staff member would be greeted with applause, but none of the students clapped. Hagrid and Dumbledore applauded for a few moments before the awkwardness of the situation reached them. Moody seemed unbothered.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. " _Mad-Eye Moody? The one your dad went to help this morning? The guy who set his rubbish bins on some imaginary intruder?"_

"Must be," said Ron in a low, awed voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his _face?"_

"Dunno," Ron whispered back, watching Moody with fascination.

Dumbledore cleared his throat to get the students' attention. "As I was saying," he continued, picking up from where he had been interrupted, "we are to have the pleasure of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're _joking_!" yelled Fred Weasley, incredulous.

o0O0o

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the still-grey atmosphere. Harry, Ron, and Hermione examined their new course schedules at breakfast, with the former two only partially paying attention. They were far more interested in the Twins' and Lee Jordan's plan to bluff their way into the Triwizard Tournament.

"Hey, look here," said Ron, who was running his finger down the Monday column of his schedule. "Outside all morning! Herbology with the 'Puffs, and care of magical creatures… damn it, we're still with the Slytherins…"

"Double Divination this afternoon," Harry groaned, looking down. Divination was his least favourite subject, apart from Potions. Professor Trelawney kept predicting Harry's death, which he found extremely annoying.

"You should have given it up like me, shouldn't you?" said Hermione briskly as she buttered some toast. "Then you'd be doing something sensible like Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes. You know, it's not too late to switch, if you really hate Divination. Ancient Runes isn't _that_ hard, you know."

"Hermione, if Trelawney predicts my death just _one_ more time, I'm gonna do it."

"You wouldn't do that," Ron pleaded. "Would you?"

"Honestly?" said Harry. "She was on my case all last year. Would you blame me?"

A sudden rustling noise cut off Ron's reply as a hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning mail. The owls circled the table, searching for the addressee to whatever they were carrying, and dropped their parcels off. Hedwig was not among them. Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of disappointment in his stomach, Harry returned to eating his porridge. Was it possible that something had happened to Hedwig, and that Sirius hadn't even received his letter?

His preoccupation with that line of thinking stuck with him all the way through Herbology and only came to a halt when Hagrid introduced his new children during their Care of Magical Creatures class.

"... they won' want ter miss this — Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

"Come again?" said Ron.

Following the class, they went to lunch. When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron set off for the North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiralling staircase, a silver stepladder led to a circular trap door in the ceiling and the room where Professor Trelawney lived.

The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed; the circular room was bathed in red light from Trelawney's collection of odd lamps. Her fondness for covering everything in shawls and scarves was an oddity easy to look past when you met the person herself.

"Good day," said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry, making him jump.

A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic expression she always wore when her eyes settled on him. Beads, chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.

She hummed along to an unheard tune as she strolled back to her large, winged armchair before the fire. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, sat on pouffes very close to her, like children preparing to hear a story from a much-loved grandparent.

"My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars," she began. "The movements of the planets and the mysterious…"

Her voice wasn't soothing, but it _was_ boring enough to send Harry into a trance. He'd much rather be anywhere than there. He began to daydream about the Triwizard Tournament...

 _He had hoodwinked the impartial judge into believing he was seventeen and become the Hogwarts champion. He was standing on the grounds, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming Harry…. 'Harry,'..._

" _Harry!"_ Ron whispered, almost directly in his ear, snapping him out of his dream. "Listen to her."

Confused, Harry looked at Ron. Ron asking him to pay attention wasn't a daily occurrence, to say the least. The second before he opened his mouth to respond, he understood what his friend meant.

"No, no, no. The Mind's Eye is closed to me _. Changes are coming, Marked One. What you desire shall become dreaded._ " the Seer said, gazing into the fire. Suddenly, she turned to look at Harry. " _I see difficult times ahead for you, alas... most difficult... I cannot see far. The end of the road._ "

"P-professor?" Lavender stammered as the Divination professor turned back to the fire.

"Are you okay?" Parvati asked, waving a hand in front of the professor's eyes to provoke a response.

Harry's eyes were wide. He felt like he'd heard some of those words before. Marked One _?_ Whatever that was, it unsettled him. Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe he should have left and done something sensible with his time.

Even though he had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortune-telling was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner, she was _really_ good at getting under his skin. He took exception for the single time at the end of the last term, when she had made the prediction about Voldemort rising again. When he had described it to Dumbledore, Dumbledore had said that he thought that trance had been genuine.

The class continued soon after Trelawney's brief… _episode_ , for lack of a better term. Nothing Harry did could get his mind off her trance. Not even Ron making a comment about Lavender and Uranus got a laugh out of him. It did, however, make Trelawney furious, and she assigned a detailed analysis of the planetary movements and the effects they would have over the coming month.

"Miserable old bat," spat Ron as they joined the crowds descending the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. "That'll take all weekend, that will…"

"Lots of homework?" said Hermione brightly, catching up with them from behind. "Professor Vector didn't give _us_ any at all!"

"Well, bully for Professor Vector," Ron grumbled.

The three of them reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a familiar voice rang out from behind them.

"Weasley! Hey, Weasley!"

"What?" Ron glowered.

"Your dad's in the newspaper, Weasley! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and speaking as loudly as he could, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. "Listen to this!

 **FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**

It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end, _writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent_. Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office."

Malfoy looked up. "Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" he crowed.

"Imagine the reporters being so bad they can't even do proper research. Wipe your arse with it, Malfoy," jeered Harry, who had heard enough.

"I don't recall asking for your opinion, Potter," the boy rebuked, flourishing the paper and reading on.

"Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers ("policemen") over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of "Mad-Eye" Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr Moody's heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen but refused to answer _Daily Prophet_ questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.

"And there's a picture, Weasley!" shouted Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. "A picture of your parents outside their house — if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?"

Ron was shaking with barely repressed fury. Everyone was staring at him.

"Get stuffed, Malfoy," said Harry. "C'mon, Ron…"

"Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?" sneered Malfoy. "So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?"

"You know _your_ mother, Malfoy?" asked Harry — both he and Hermione had grabbed the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy — "That expression she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has it always been like that, or only since you've been born?"

Malfoy's face went pink. "Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter."

"Maybe the reason they don't get rid of you," Harry started, turning to leave, "is that they can't just make a new heir, your father—"

A sound deafened him briefly, and Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of his face — he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he'd even touched it, he heard a second loud bang and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

"Oh, no you don't, laddie!"

Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase, wand out and pointing right at a pure white ferret, which lay shivering on the stone-flagged floor. It took a moment before he realized that it was Malfoy.

A terrified silence permeated the hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry, at least, his normal eye did. The other one remained pointing at the ferret.

"Did he get you?" Moody growled.

"No," stammered Harry, "missed."

"LEAVE IT!" Moody shouted.

"Leave —" Harry began, bewildered.

"Not you — him!" Moody hissed, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe, who had frozen in the act of picking Malfoy off the floor. It seemed that Moody's eye could see through the back of his skull.

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

"I don't think so!" roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again; it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

"I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned," growled Moody, as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. "Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…"

"Never — do — that — again —" said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the hard floor and bounced upward again.

"Professor Moody!" gasped a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

"What — what are you doing?" questioned Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret's progress through the air suspiciously. "Tell me that isn't a student."

"I'm teaching, Professor."

"Teach — Moody, _is that a student?_ " shrieked Professor McGonagall, her books falling to the floor as she whipped out her wand. A moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now astonishingly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

"Moody, we _never_ use Transfiguration as a punishment!" she decried. "Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?"

"He might've mentioned it, yeah," grunted Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, "but I thought a good sharp shock —"

"He shouldn't have to tell you! Use common sense, Moody! Perhaps that wouldn't be out of place in a darker school such as _Durmstrang_ ," she spat disgustedly, "but here, we give detentions. Otherwise, we speak to the offender's Head of House!"

Moody stood, looking mildly cowed. "I'll do that then, but I don't want to hear you insinuating I'm some sort of Dark Wizard," he grumbled, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently at Moody and muttered something in which the words "my father" were distinguishable.

"Oh, you do that, boy," Moody stage-whispered, limping forward a few steps. "I know your father of old, child. You tell him Moody's keeping a close eye on his son. You tell him that from me, and you tell him I remember his sins. Now, your Head of House'll be Snape, will it?"

Moody half-dragged Malfoy away, McGonagall looking on anxiously. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched their backs recede.

"Don't talk to me," murmured Ron to his friends as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later. Talk surrounded them of what had just happened.

"Why?" asked Harry.

"Because I want to fix that in my memory forever," explained Ron, his eyes closed and an awed expression on his face. "Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret…"

Harry and Hermione both laughed, and Hermione began dolloping food onto each of their plates.

"I'm glad he didn't seriously hurt Malfoy though," she said. "If he had, we'd be teaching ourselves Defence this year…"

"Hermione!" snapped Ron furiously, glaring at her, "you're ruining the best moment of my life!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued eating at top speed.

"Don't tell me you're going back to the library this evening?" inquired Harry.

"Got to, lots to do," Hermione responded, choking briefly on a piece of food.

"Slow down," Harry said, pounding her back to help dislodge the object. "The library will be there when you finish."

Hermione sighed. "Thanks, Harry, but I've really got to get a good start to the year."

"Okay. I'll join you there when I finish my dinner. I need to talk to you about something."

Within five minutes, the girl was gone. As soon as she departed, her seat was taken by Fred Weasley.

"Moody!" he exclaimed. "How cool is he?"

"Beyond cool," agreed George, sliding into the seat opposite his twin.

"Supercool," added Lee, sitting down beside George. "We had him this afternoon."

"What was it like?" questioned Harry eagerly.

Fred, George, and Lee exchanged looks of meaning.

"Never had a lesson like it," said Fred.

"He _knows_ , man," emphasized Lee.

"Knows what?" asked Ron, leaning forward.

"Knows what it's like to be out there _doing_ it," teased George.

"Doing _what?_ " begged Harry.

"Fighting the Dark Arts, he's seen it all, he's amazing," the three older students said in parts as Ron dove into his bag, searching for his schedule.

"We haven't got him 'till Thursday!" groaned Ron.

o0O0o

 **A/N: I think I'll leave that here. It's getting rather late, and I've got work in the morning. I've got three more days before this goes up to edit it and write the third chapter, I may have lied a little about having five chapters done… Either way, I've set things up pretty well for future chapters.**

 **Oh, and what do you all think of me posting a crackfic?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I'm getting ahead on writing. As of writing this, Chapter Two won't be going up for another two days. If I can keep this pace up I might finish the story in short order. Popping out two chapters a week means it'll be, oh, eleven weeks before I reach the end of the Goblet of Fire, and proceed on to the Order of the Phoenix. If I significantly ramp up production I could get it all done by the end of the summer. Wouldn't that be nice…**

o0O0o

"Hermione?" Harry whispered. The girl didn't respond. "Hermione!" he said, a little louder. This time, it caught her attention.

"You were serious about coming to the library?" she asked, surprised. It wasn't often she could drag her friends to the library, and even less often they went of their own accord. She watched as the boy sat across from her at the table.

"How do I switch classes?" he questioned. Divination was starting to really grate on him, and at this point, he didn't care about the difficulty of the alternative classes. Besides, he was sure Hermione would help him with any issues he had with the coursework.

"Are you seriously considering changing classes, or is this just hypothetical?"

"Actually, I don't think it's really considering at this point, Hermione," admitted Harry. "Trelawney gave me some trouble in class today, and I'm tired of being told I'm going to die."

Hermione gave him a sympathetic glance. "Talk to Professor McGonagall tomorrow, as well as Professor Babbling. I don't think Professor McGonagall will give you too much trouble with the schedule change, she thinks about as much of Divination as I do. As for Professor Babbling, she'll probably be fine with it, so long as you catch up on the first year course for Ancient Runes. I can help you with that if you'd like — I've just finished studying up here anyway. Now, we went over Futhark last year..."

The two studied right up to curfew, and by the end of it, Harry wanted to _futhark_ ing hit something. Runes looked so unassuming, but the different ways you could put them together hurt his brain. Uruz? Elhaz? Uruz elhaz? Completely different things.

 _At least,_ Harry thought to himself later that night, _it knocks me right out._

The next morning, Harry woke himself early to visit Professor McGonagall. She was surprised to hear that he wanted a schedule change but pleased to note that he was willing to take on the extra work. Professor Babbling was glad to hear she had a new student as well, but cautious.

"I'm sure Hermione will catch you up on all you've missed, she has a way of teaching… I wouldn't be surprised if she came back in a few years to take my position!" the teacher smiled. "Should you find yourself behind in the class, don't hesitate to ask me questions, Hermione will also be an invaluable resource for you."

Professor Babbling loaned Harry a set of preparatory textbooks and sent him on his way. He would only be sitting in on the class tomorrow, as the professor doubted he would be able to understand everything going on.

The next two days passed with a single hitch unless you counted Neville melting his sixth cauldron in Potions. Professor Snape, who seemed to have attained new levels of vindictiveness over the summer, gave Neville detention. He was made to disembowel a barrel full of horned toads, which Hermione was none too happy about.

"That's borderline abusive, Nev," Hermione consoled, "if you'd like, I can ask Professor Dumbledore to reprimand Snape."

Ron, upon learning of Harry changing courses, was rather upset — he went to sit next to Seamus and ignored Harry and Hermione for the rest of the day. The Twins were pretty annoyed with their younger brother, and assured Harry they were planning on pranking the boy until he let up on his silliness.

Ancient Runes wasn't as difficult a class as Harry had anticipated. Some of that could be attributed to Hermione hovering over his shoulder to offer advice, but he thought he had a decent grasp of the subject. He was extremely grateful to Hermione for their library study sessions. On Thursday, their post-lunch session ran right up to the beginning of Defence.

"Been in the —" Harry started as he and Hermione turned up just as the bell rung.

"Library." Ron finished, rolling his eyes. They hurried up to the three chairs in front of the teacher's desk, took out their copies of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ , and waited, unusually quiet. It wasn't long before they heard Moody's distinctive _thunk_ ing footsteps coming down the corridor. He entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could just see his clawed, wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, limping to his desk and sitting down, "the books. You won't need 'em."

They returned the books to their bags, Ron looking more excited for a class than ever before.

Moody took out a register, shook his hair from his eyes, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivelled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered. Harry shuddered; something about that man just didn't seem right.

"I wonder why he's got to shake his hair out of his face if that eye of his can see through anything?" he whispered to Hermione. She shushed him, pointing to the Professor.

"Right then," Moody said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures — you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and, er… werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent, and some whispers at Moody's pause before saying _werewolves_.

"But you're behind — very behind — on dealing with curses," growled Moody. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on the darkest creature of all. _Wizards_. There's no creature on this planet quite as dangerous as a well-armed wizard with intent to harm. And I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark —"

"What, aren't you staying?" Ron blurted out.

Moody's magical eye spun around to stare at Ron; Ron looked extremely apprehensive, but after a moment Moody smiled — the first time Harry had seen him do so. The effect was to make his heavily scarred face look more twisted and contorted than ever, but it was good to know that he ever did anything as friendly as smile. It abated his fears slightly, but he was still wary. Ron looked deeply relieved either way.

"You'll be Arthur Weasley's son, eh?" Moody said. "Your father got me out of a very tight corner a few days ago…Yeah, I'm stayin' just the one year. Special favour to Dumbledore...One year, and then back to my quiet retirement. I hope so, at least — dark wizards can strike at any time, and if my country needs me back, I'd have to put that on hold."

He gave a harsh bark of laughter, then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"But, if I do my job here well, I hope some of you will become Aurors. Then, if any of you have got real grit, talent, and _vigilance_ , maybe I won't be needed so much. So!" he shouted, startling some of the students. "Straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. According to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be mature enough to process it till then. But Professor Dumbledore never does things by the books — he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better. A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared."

He held the class' undivided attention. Some students muttered at the implication that this was more than theoretical practice — the notion that they could one day _need_ this information was uncomfortable.

"Do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air, including Ron's and Hermione's. Moody pointed at Ron.

"Er," stammered Ron, "my dad told me about this one….is it the Imperius Curse, or something?"

"Ah, yes," said Moody. "Your father _would_ know that one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse."

Moody laboriously rose to his feet, grunting at the pain in his back. Opening his desk drawer, he pulled out a glass jar. Three large black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Harry felt Ron recoil slightly next to him.

Moody reached into the jar and gently picked up a spider. It must have been charmed or drugged because it didn't show any signs of aggression. He pointed his wand at it and muttered, " _Imperio!"_

The spider leapt from Moody's hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backwards and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakably a tap dance. Everyone was laughed — everyone except Moody.

"Think it's funny, do you?" he growled. "You'd like it, then, if I did it to you? Well, you'll get that wish granted. We're practising throwing the Imperius curse off next class."

The laughter died away almost instantly.

"Total control. I could make it jump out the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats… Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will."

"The Imperius Curse can be fought. That's why we'll be going over it next class. It takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it — better avoid being hit with it if you can. The best defence against a spell is not to be there. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he shouted, and everyone jumped.

The spider crawled itself back into the jar. It was eerie, seeing the creature return itself its prison.

"Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air again and to Harry's surprise, so did Neville's. The only class in which Neville usually volunteered information was Herbology, which was easily his best subject. Even Neville looked surprised at himself.

"Neville?" picked Moody, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on the boy.

"There's one — the Cruciatus Curse."

Moody stared very intently at Neville, this time with both eyes.

"Your name's Longbottom?" he questioned.

Neville nodded, but Moody made no further inquiries. Turning back to the class at large, he reached into the next spider and placed it upon the desktop. It remained motionless, too scared to move.

"The Cruciatus Curse," said Moody. "Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea," he continued, pointing his wand at the spider. " _Engorgio!"_

The spider swelled to larger than a tarantula. Ron began to scoot his chair backwards, as far away from Moody's desk as possible.

Moody raised his wand, jabbed at the spider, and muttered, " _Crucio!"_

At once, the spider's legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice to its feelings, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand, and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently.

"Stop it!" interrupted Hermione.

Harry looked at her, stunned. She was looking, not at the spider, but at Neville. Neville's hands were clenched upon the desk, his complexion pale and his eyes wide and horrified.

Moody raised his wand. The spider's legs relaxed, but it continued to twitch.

" _Reducio,"_ Moody muttered, and the spider shrank back to its proper size. He put it back into the jar.

"Pain," murmured Moody. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse….That one was very popular once too," he paused. "Anyone know any others?"

Harry looked around. From the looks on everyone's faces, he guessed they were all wondering what was going to happen to the last spider. Hermione's hand wavered a moment. She looked at Harry and was sure he knew, but when he made no effort to raise his hand, she raised hers.

"Yes?" said Moody.

" _Avada Kedavra,"_ Hermione whispered, her eyes on Harry.

Several people looked at her uneasily, including Ron. Harry looked at Hermione but didn't quite understand. The words were familiar, but he couldn't place them.

"Ah," said Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the final and worst of the three. _Avada Kedavra_ …. The Killing Curse."

He put his hand into the glass jar, and almost as though it knew what was coming, the third spider scuttled frantically around the bottom of the jar, trying to evade Moody's fingers, but he grabbed it roughly and placed it upon the desktop. It scrambled to get as far as it could away from the man, but its few short steps weren't enough.

Moody raised his wand, and Harry felt an oppressive feeling of foreboding.

" _Avada Kedavra!"_ Moody roared.

A flash of brilliant green light pierced the air with a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible predator was soaring through the air — instantaneously, the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students stifled cries; Ron had thrown himself backwards and toppled off his seat as the spider skidded toward him.

"Not nice, not pleasant," he sighed, sweeping the dead spider the desk. "And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it, except with Conjuration. Only one person has ever survived it, and he's sitting right in front of me."

Harry felt his face redden. He was still processing the spell in his mind, and it kept repeating in his head. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, but he kept his gaze locked on the blank blackboard as though it were fascinating, but not really seeing it.

Harry had been picturing his parents' deaths over and over for three years now, ever since he'd found out that they were murdered. Had they simply seen the flash of green light, heard the sound of speeding death, before life was wiped from their bodies? Harry had heard their voices the year prior when he had fought the Dementors last year. Their terrible power to trap their victims in their worst memories had surfaced the sound of his parents dying.

Moody was speaking again, from a great distance, it seemed to Harry. Hermione touched his shoulder, and he jumped slightly. There was no pity in her eyes, only compassion.

Harry settled himself and focused on Moody again. There was time to think over what he'd seen here later.

" _Avada Kedavra_ 's a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it — you could all get your wands out and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? _Because you've got to know_. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it."

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class leaned back.

"Now….those three curses — _Avada Kedavra,_ _Imperio,_ and _Crucio_ — are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice _constant, never-ceasing vigilance_. Get out your quills...copy this down…"

They spent the rest of the class taking notes about the history of each of the spells. No one spoke until the bell rang. Most people were discussing the curses in awed voices — "Did you see it twitch?" "—and when he killed it — just like that!"

They were talking about the lesson, Harry thought, as though it had been some sort of spectacular show, but he hadn't found it very entertaining — neither, it seemed, had Hermione.

"Hurry up," she urged tensely.

"The ruddy library again, after _that_ lesson?"

"No," said Hermione curtly. "Neville."

The boy stood alone, halfway up a side passage, staring at the same wall opposite him with the same horrified, wide-eyed look he had worn when Moody had demonstrated the Cruciatus Curse.

"Neville?" Hermione said gently.

Neville looked around. "Oh hello," he whispered tightly. "Interesting lesson, wasn't it? I wonder what's for dinner. I'm starting, aren't you?"

"Neville, are you all right?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine."

Ron gave Harry a startled look.

"Neville, what —"

An odd clunking noise sounded behind them, and they turned to see Professor Moody limping toward them. All four of them fell silent, watching him apprehensive, but when he spoke, it was much gentler than they expected.

"It's all right, sonny," he growled. "Why don't you come up to my office? Come on….we can have a cup of tea…."

Neville looked even more frightened at the prospect of tea with Moody. He neither moved nor spoke. Harry and Hermione moved to stand in front of the boy and looked Moody in the eyes.

"We've got him, Professor," Hermione cautioned.

Moody grunted. "You take care of him. I'm sure he's in good hands," he said, before walking away. It seemed odd to Harry, but perhaps he was just unused to comforting students.

Neville looked gratefully at the trio. "Thanks, guys."

"No problem, Neville. It's what friends do."

Neville smiled weakly at what Harry said. " _Friends,"_ he thought.

"Some lesson, though, eh?" said Ron to Harry as the four of them set off to the Great Hall. "Fred and George were right, weren't they? He really knows his stuff, Moody, doesn't he?" When he did _Avada Kedavra_ , the way that spider just _died,_ just snuffed it right —"

But Ron fell silent at the look on Harry's face and didn't speak again until they reached the Great Hall.

"I suppose we better make a start on Professor Trelawney's predictions tonight," he moaned. "They're bound to take hours."

Ron looked at Harry for a response, his face reddening as he realised Harry no longer had Divination. He remained quiet for the rest of the meal and found himself sitting alone when the other two finished their food rapidly and left for the library.

o0O0o

"Alright, Harry," Hermione said quietly over a library table. "Spill."

Harry looked at her confusedly. "What do you mean?"

"You've been quiet ever since Defense."

"It's nothing," Harry insisted, pretending to read a conveniently open book.

"I know you better than that," she responded softly. "I know the curse bothered you. I'm here for you, you know that, right?"

"It's more than just helping you with your homework," she continued when Harry nodded. "If you ever need a shoulder to cry on, or a hug, or just to vent — I'm here for you. It's what friends do, right?"

"Thanks, Hermione," he mumbled. He felt a little better now, but he would still have trouble sleeping that night.

They went over runes until soon before curfew and made their way back. Hermione walked close to Harry, almost brushing his shoulder. The closeness made Harry a little wary, but it comforted him.

As they climbed into the Gryffindor common room, they were assaulted by a wall of noise. Harry went up to his dormitory to fetch his books and a scroll of paper, and found Neville, sitting on his bed, reading. He looked a good deal calmer than at the end of Moody's lesson.

"You all right there, Neville?" Harry asked him.

"Oh yes," said Neville. "I'm fine, thanks. I really appreciate what you guys did for me early. It's — it's nice to hear you consider me a friend. I think I needed to hear that today."

"It's nothing, Nev, friends have each other's backs," Harry smiled at him, before taking his Transfiguration homework back down to the common room. He found a table and spent the better part of an hour idly transfiguring a metal ball from one thing to another. He didn't notice how littered with bits and pieces his table was until Hermione came down and commented on it.

"Harry, you ought to be working on the homework, not messing around."

The ball split into two identical balls as the fog on Harry's mind lifted. While not the intended effect, it seemed to please Hermione.

"How'd you do that, Harry?" she exclaimed. "Duplication is a type of Conjuration. Professor McGonagall said Conjuration is a N.E.W.T. level transfiguration…"

"I wasn't paying attention, I guess," Harry admitted. "I don't know how I did it."

Hermione looked unimpressed. "Surely you've got some idea? I mean, you're the one who _did_ it."

"Er, let me try again," he looked at the ball and tried to imitate the duplication. The ball split into two once more, much to his surprise. He looked around to see if someone else could have done it, but everyone was absorbed in their own work.

"How are you doing that?" she demanded, sitting across from him and staring at him intently.

"Remember in first year, the equation Professor McGonagall showed us? Transformation equals —"

"Yes, Harry, I remember the equation, but that's for transformative transfiguration. Duplication is a form of conjuration. In _Guide to Advanced Transfiguration_ , the equation for conjuration is given. Lifespan, L equals the power of the wizard, P, times the information of the conjured object, I, divided by the mass of the conjured object, M."

Harry looked at her incredulously as she continued.

"Clearly, M isn't very high — let's say that's 10 grams — and even though it's a duplication, you have very little experience. So, I ought to be rather low," she rambled, writing notes down on a piece of parchment as she pieced together the simple equation. "We'll put it in as 0.5. Your magical core strength might have gone through a growth spurt recently."

She looked up and took a breath. "It doesn't add up."

"It's multiplication, Hermione."

The corners of her lips twitched, but the joke didn't make her laugh.

"What I mean is, that metal ball is still there. It's been a few minutes, and with the low information balancing out the relatively low mass, that would give you a higher power level than you ought to. Granted, that's the simplified equation, but…."

"I haven't got a clue what that's supposed to mean," Harry admired, looking down at her long list of calculations.

Hermione pursed her lips. "It means you've either gotten _really_ good at Transfiguration, or you're stronger magically than you were in class today."

Harry was still confused, but decided to drop the subject in favour of actually finishing his homework (with Hermione's help, of course).

Meanwhile, Ron was busy working on his Divination predictions. Seeing Harry and Hermione working together on homework when normally it would be the three of them together, he began to write his next prediction.

" _Stabbed in the back by someone I thought was a friend…"_ he muttered under his breath.

 **A/N: I originally had more planned for this chapter, but couldn't fit it all in. As it stands, I'm late to uploading this.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: There will probably not be a chapter next week, as I am going to be taking a trip to see my best friend; I have not seen her in six years and my time may be monopolized by her.**

o0O0o

Harry was saved from his homework, if briefly, by a soft _tap, tap_ on the window. Harry looked across the now empty common room and saw, illuminated by the moonlight, a snowy owl perched on the windowsill.

"Hedwig!" he shouted, and he launched himself out of his chair and across the room to pull open the window.

Hedwig flew inside, soared across the room, and landed on the table on top of his conjured spheres.

"About time!" he exclaimed, hurrying after her.

Harry hastily untied the message from her leg and sat down to read, whereupon Hedwig fluttered onto his knee, hooting softly.

"What does it say?" Hermione asked breathlessly.

The letter was short and looked as though it had been scrawled in a great hurry. Harry read it aloud:

 _Harry_ —

 _I'm flying north immediately. This news about your scar is the latest in a series of strange rumours that have reached me here. If it hurts again, go straight to Dumbledore — they're saying he's got Mad-Eye out of retirement, which means he's reading the signs, even if no one else is.  
I'll be in touch soon. My best to Ron and Hermione. Keep your eyes open, Harry._

 _Sirius_

Harry looked at Hermione, who stared back at him.

"He's flying north?" Hermione whispered. "He's coming _back?_ "

"I shouldn't have told him," Harry said gravely. "It's made him think he's got to come back! Coming back, because he thinks I'm in trouble! And there's nothing wrong with me!" he babbled, his volume steadily increasing.

Hedwig hopped from his knee over to Hermione, ruffling her feathers.

"I haven't got anything for you," he said to Hedwig, his voice softening. "Sorry. You'll have to go up to the Owlery if you want food."

Hedwig gave him as sympathetic a look as an owl could manage, and took off for the open window, brushing his head with an outstretched wing as she went.

"Harry," Hermione began, in a pacifying sort of voice.

"I'm going to bed," said Harry shortly. "See you in the morning."

Upstairs in the dormitory, he pulled on his pyjamas and got into his four-poster, but he didn't feel remotely tired. His head was spinning and he couldn't get it out of his mind that this was his fault. The dormitory was completely silent, and, had he been less preoccupied, Harry would have realised that the absence of Neville's usual snores meant that he was not the only one lying awake.

o0O0o

Early the next morning, Harry woke with a plan fully formed in his mind, as though his sleeping brain had been working on it all night. He got up, dressed in the pale dawn light, left the dormitory, and went down to the deserted common room. Here he took a piece of parchment from where Hermione had been working on Arithmancy (he was sure she wouldn't mind) and wrote the following letter:

 _Dear Sirius,  
I reckon I just imagined my scar hurting, I was half asleep when I wrote to you last time. There's no point coming back, everything's fine here _— _did I mention I've switched from Divination to Ancient Runes? Don't worry about me, my head feels mostly normal; the only thing that gives me headaches these days is Ron. We've had a bit of a falling out.  
Harry_

He then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle, and finally arrived at the Owlery. Cold and drafty, it made Harry shiver, and he hurried over to Hedwig. It took him a moment to persuade her to wake up, but she stuck out her leg and allowed him to tie his letter to it.

"Just find him, all right?" Harry pleaded, stroking her back as he carried her on his arm to one of the holes in the wall. "Before the dementors do."

She nipped his finger and hooted softly in a reassuring sort of way. Then she spread her wings and took off into the sunrise. Harry watched her fly out of sight with the familiar feeling of unease back in his stomach. He had been so sure that Sirius's reply would alleviate his worries rather than compound them.

"That was a lie, Harry," insisted Hermione over breakfast, when he told her what he had done. "You _didn't_ imagine your scar hurting and you know it."

"I know, but I don't have an awful lot of choice here, Hermione. He's not going back to Azkaban because of me."

Harry worried for weeks about Sirius's response. Nothing could keep his mind off of it, no matter how hard he tried — he couldn't stop himself from looking around anxiously when the post owls arrived. He had nightmares of dementors corning Sirius down some dark London alley every night. The only respite he'd had was Hermione's birthday — he'd gotten her a heart-shaped friendship necklace on Fred and George's advice. The heart was cut down the middle in a lightning bolt pattern, like Harry's scar, and had a twin necklace that Harry kept hidden under his shirt. Hermione had definitely appreciated the gift, but Fred and George seemed more pleased with the result than Harry had.

He wished he still had Quidditch to distract him from Sirius, though. Nothing got the mind out of a dark place like working yourself to exhaustion. On the other hand, his classes were steadily ramping up, and Harry was beginning to enjoy them the same way he'd enjoy Quidditch any other year.

Ever since that night where he'd accidentally conjured those spheres, he'd been having a much easier time with Transfiguration. He assumed it was because he'd unconsciously gained some sort of understanding, perhaps Hermione had helped with it, but the specific reason evaded him. Professor McGonagall was certainly pleased with his progress either way.

Ancient Runes was surprisingly interesting to Harry. After he'd caught up with the rest of the class, he'd been surprised to learn that he wasn't too bad with them. Their applications certainly interested Harry.

Of all of his classes, Moody's Defence Against the Dark Arts was the the most demanding. To their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist its effects.

"But — you said it's illegal, Professor," said Hermione uncertainly as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a clear space in the middle of the room. "You said — to use it against another human was —"

"Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like," growled Moody, his magical eye swivelling onto Hermione and fixing her with an unblinking stare. "If you'd rather learn the hard way — when someone's putting it on you so they can control you completely — fine by me. You're excused. Off you go."

Hermione turned very pink and muttered something about not meaning that she wanted to leave. Harry grinned, knowing that she would rather eat bubotuber pus than miss such an important lesson.

Moody began to beckon students forward in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. Harry watched as, one by one, his classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

"Potter," Moody growled, "you next."

Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. Moody raised his wand, pointed it at Harry, and said, " _Imperio!"_

It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry felt a floating sensation as every thought and worry in his head was wiped gently away, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching.

And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of his empty brain: _Jump onto the desk...jump onto the desk…_

Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring.

 _Jump onto the desk…_

Why, though? Another voice had awoken in the back of his brain. Stupid thing to do, really, said the voice.

No, I don't think I will, thanks, said the other voice firmly. No, I don't really want to…

 _Jump! NOW!_

Harry looked up, and the sensation washed away. He stumbled and fell to one knee, but stood and smiled proudly.

"Now, _that's_ more like it!" growled Moody's voice, no longer in his head. "Look at that, you lot...Potter fought! He fought it, and he beat it! We'll try that again, Potter, and the rest of you, pay attention — watch his eyes, that's where you see it — very good, Potter, very good indeed! They'll have trouble controlling _you!_ "

o0O0o

"The way he talks," Harry said as they walked out of the Defence class an hour later (Moody had insisted on putting Harry through his paces three times in a row, until it barely made Harry pause), "you'd think we were all going to be attack any second."

"Yes, Harry, but don't you think it's important?" asked Hermione as they walked to dinner. "His whole thing about Constant Vigilance could be important one day."

All the fourth years had noticed a definite increase in the amount of work they were required to do this term. Professor McGonagall explained why, when the class gave a loud groan at the amount of Transfiguration homework she had assigned.

"You are now entering a most important phase of your magical education and growth!" she told them, her eyes glinting dangerously behind her square spectacles. "Your Ordinary Wizarding Levels are drawing closer —"

"We don't take O.W.L.s till fifth year!" interrupted Dean Thomas indignantly.

"Maybe not, Thomas, but believe me, you need all the preparation you can get! Miss Granger and Mister Potter remain the only people in this class who have managed to turn a hedgehog into a satisfactory pincushion. I might remind you that _your_ pincushion, Thomas, still curls up in fright if anyone approaches it with a pin!"

Hermione, who had turned rather pink again, seemed to be trying not to look too pleased with herself. Harry, meanwhile, looked embarrassed — he insisted that it was more of an accident than anything real.

Ron had been amused when Professor Trelawney had given him top marks for his charts, but wasn't so quick to share with Harry and Hermione. He still held a grudge against them.

Professor Binns of the History class had assigned them weekly essays on the goblin rebellions of the eighteenth century. Professor Snape was forcing them to research antidotes, and they all took it deadly serious — he had hinted at poisoning a student before Christmas to see if their antidotes worked. Professor Flitwick had asked them to read three extra books in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms.

Even Hagrid was adding to their workload. The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their "project," suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behaviour.

"I will not," refused Draco Malfoy flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. "I see enough of those foul things during lessons, thanks."

"Yeh'll do wha' yer told," he growled, his smile fading, "or I'll be takin' a leaf outta Professor Moody's book… I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy."

The Gryffindors had roared with laughter, recalling how Malfoy had done his very best to get Hagrid sacked the previous year.

When they arrived in the entrance hall, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to a large crowd of students. Harry and Hermione muscled their way through the crowd and found a sign, reading:

 **Triwizard Tournament**

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o'clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

"Brilliant!" said Harry. "It's Potions last thing on Friday! Snape won't have time to poison us all!"

"Only a week away!' said Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. "I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I'll go and tell him…"

"Cedric Diggory," said Harry thoughtfully. "He must be entering the tournament. He's the Seeker for Hufflepuff, probably losing his mind without Quidditch this year…"

The appearance of the sign in the entrance hall had a marked effect upon the students. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where Harry went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying around: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves.

Harry noticed too that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of the inhabitants, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming, and Argus Filch was becoming ferocious to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-years into hysterics.

Other members of staff seemed oddly tense too.

"Longbottom, get a hold of yourself, and kindly do _not_ reveal that you can't perform a simple Switching Spell in front of anyone from Durmstrang!" Professor McGonagall barked at the end of one particularly difficult lesson, during which Neville had accidentally transplanted his own ears onto a cactus.

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated lavishly overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each representing a Hogwarts house, and a central one bearing the crest of Hogwarts.

Harry and Hermione sat down beside Fred and george at the Gryffindor table. Once again, and most unusually, they were sitting apart from everyone else and conversing in low voices.

"It's a bummer, all right," George was saying gloomily to Fred. "But if he won't talk to us in person we'll have to send him the letter after all. Or we'll stuff it into his hand. He can't avoid us forever."

"Who's avoiding you?" Ron butted in, sitting on the other side of them.

"Wish you would," said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.

"What's a bummer?" Ron asked George.

"Having a nosy git like you for a brother," jabbed George.

"You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?" Harry asked, ignoring Ron. "Thought any more about trying to enter?"

"I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn't telling. She told us to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon."

"I wonder what the tasks are going to be," wondered Harry. "You know, I bet I could do them. I've done some dangerous stuff before…"

"Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven't," said Fred. "McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they've done the task."

"Who are the judges?" asked Harry.

"Historically, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel," said Hermione, and everyone looked at her, rather surprised, "because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on a rampage."

She noticed them all looking at her, and with her usual air of impatience that nobody else had read the books she had, said: "It's all in _Hogwarts: A History_. Though, of course, that book isn't _entirely_ reliable. _A_ Revised _History of Hogwarts_ would be a more accurate title, or _A Highly Biased and Selective History of Hogwarts, Which Glosses Over the Nastier Aspects of the School_."

"You never cease to amaze, do you?" admired Fred. "You've read more in just those three books than I have the past few years…"

Harry shook his head, laughing, and applied himself to his scrambled eggs. A sudden _whoosh_ ing of feathers overhead signalled the arrival of the post owls. Harry looked up at once, and saw Hedwig soaring toward him. Hedwig fluttered down onto Harry's shoulder, folded her wings, and held out her leg wearily.

Harry pulled off Sirius's reply offered Hedwig his bacon rinds, which she ate gratefully. Then, checking that nobody was listening in, Harry read out Sirius's letter in a whisper to Hermione.

 _Nice try, Harry.  
I'm back in the country and well hidden. I want you to keep me posted on everything that's going on Hogwarts. Don't use Hedwig, keep changing owls, and don't worry about me. Just watch out for yourself and don't forget what I said about your scar.  
On a different note, congratulations on taking up Runes! As much as I disapprove of taking on extra work, I'm proud that you're willing to do it.  
Sirius_

"He's right. Hedwig will attract too much attention. She stands out. A snowy owl that keeps returning to wherever he's hiding...I mean, they're not native birds," agreed Hermione.

Harry rolled up the letter and slipped it inside his robes, wondering whether he felt more or less worried than before. He supposed that Sirius managing to get back without being caught was something. He couldn't deny either that having Sirius nearer was reassuring; at least he wouldn't have to wait so long for a response every time he wrote.

"Thanks, Hedwig," he said, stroking her. "I won't be using you to send messages to Sirius anymore, okay? It's for his safety, and yours as well."

She hooted sleepily, dipped her beak into his goblet of orange juice, and took off again, desperate for a good nap in the Owlery.

There was an air of anticipation that day. Nobody could stay focused in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter. When the bell rang early, Harry and his classmates hurried up to Gryffindor tower, deposited their bags and books as instructed, pulled on their cloaks, and rushed back downstairs into the entrance hal.

The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.

"Weasley, straighten your hat," Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. "Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair."

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

"Follow me, please," said Professor McGonagall. "First years in front...no pushing…."

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry, standing between Ron (much to his annoyance) and Hermione, saw Dennis Creevey positively shivering with anticipation in the front among the other first years.

"It's nearly six. I wonder how they'll be coming?" wondered Hermione.

"Broomsticks?" suggested Harry.

"I don't think so...not from that far away."

They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving. Everything was still and silent as to be expected of late October in Scotland. Harry wished they'd hurry up.

At last, Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers —

"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" searched several students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

"There!" yelled a sixth year, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick — larger than hundreds of them — was hurtling across the sky toward the castle, growing larger with each passing second.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

"Don't be stupid, it's a flying house!" gushed Dennis Creevey.

As the gigantic shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them. A dozen winged horses, all elephantine palominos, pulled the massive carriage at a tremendous speed.

The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land with a bone-rattling crash. The horses' hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground.

A second later, the carriage landed too, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery eyes. Harry had just enough time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage — a shoe the size of a child's sled — followed by the largest woman he had ever seen in his life. The size of the carriage was immediately explained.

Hagrid was the only comparison Harry had for a person of this size. He doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow — maybe simply because he was used to Hagrid — this woman seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and opals gleamed at her throat and on her fingers.

Dumbledore began to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

"My dear Madam Maxime," he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts."

"Dumbly-dorr," said Madame Maxime in a thick accent. "I 'ope I find you well?"

"In excellent form, I thank you."

"My pupils," said Madame Maxime, waving one of her hands carelessly behind her.

Harry, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madam Maxine, now noticed that about a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them wore cloaks. A few had scarves or shawls around their heads. From what Harry could see of them (they were standing in Madame Maxime's enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

"'As Karkaroff arrived yet?"

"He should be here any moment," said Dumbledore. "Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?"

"Warm up, I think," said Madame Maxime. "But ze 'orses —"

"Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them," said Dumbledore, "the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges."

"My steeds require — er — forceful 'andling," doubted Madame Maxime. "Zey are very strong…"

"I assure you that Hagrid will be up to the job," said Dumbledore, smiling.

"Very well," said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. "Will you please inform zis 'Agrid zat ze 'orses drink only single-malt whiskey?"

"It will be attended to," assured Dumbledore, also bowing. "Scotland invented that drink, I'm sure your horses will be pleased."

"Come," Madam Maxime commanded her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Beauxbatons' horses snorting and stamping. But then —

"Can you hear something?" asked Seamus.

Harry listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting toward them out of the darkness: a muffle rumbling and sucking noise, as though an immense vacuum cleaner were moving along a riverbed….

"The lake!" yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. "Look at the lake!"

From their position atop the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the now-roiling lake. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake's floor.

What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool — and then Harry saw the rigging.

"It's a mast!" exclaimed Harry to Hermione.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look to it, as though it was a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship's portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle…but then, as they drew nearer, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing some sort of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.

"Dumbledore! How are you, my dear fellow?"

"Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff."

"Dear old Hogwarts," he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Harry noticed his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. "How good it is to be here, how good…. Viktor, come along, into the warmth…you don't mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold…."

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As they boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent curved nose and thick black eyebrows. He recognized him immediately, even without the hiss Ron left out.

" _It's Krum!"_

o0O0o

 **A/N: This chapter was finished about 5 minutes before being uploaded, and may have a few errors. Things are going to start changing more and more as chapters are written. Sorry for the lateness, work had me pretty locked up.**


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